Dare You to Move
by Moksgmol
Summary: Post-'Seeing Red.' Inspired by Switchfoot's 'Dare You to Move.' Lisbon eventually finds Jane crying and takes care of him, in her own way.


Jane heard her at the door before he saw her shadow cast across the floor; he'd known she would come and he made no move to dry his tears. He had been grateful to Van Pelt for closing the door over earlier but he knew that he didn't need to hide from the person now watching him.... well, couldn't really, no more than she could hide from him.

She waited silently for him to look up at her. He knew that she would have her arms crossed; her chin would be tucked down towards her chest; her eyes would be looking up at him, hooded under her concerned, furrowed, brow.

He waited her out; waited for her impatience to get the better of her; waited just to drag on this never-ending moment because he didn't know what else to do.

But she didn't make a sound, didn't call his name or cough, didn't step towards him... or away, which was more meaningful really. Instead the silence stretched on, he couldn't even hear her breathing, but her shadow hadn't moved and he still felt her at the door.

Eventually Jane was the one to give in, looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes, the lights from the hallway behind her glinting off of his wet cheeks. She was standing just as he'd expected; it was her eyes that caught him off guard.

He had figured on pity, a look just like anyone else would give him. He had expected her to be a little uncomfortable like most people would; to be a little unsure of what to do, as most people would have been.

He really should have remembered that Lisbon isn't most people, because when his eyes met her own he could find no trace of pity in them. When she held out her hand, quickly and almost brusquely, palm down, there was no trace of hesitation in her movements.

And what could he do but let her take his hand and lead him out?

--

The bullpen they stepped into was dimly lit; the rest of the team had long ago gone home. He followed in her determined wake, loosely holding her firm hand, his free one attempting to rub his tear tracks away. He almost stopped walking when he noticed that his leather couch was missing, but Lisbon tightened her grasp and gave a tug when she felt the bobble in his step.

She led him into her office, leaving the door ajar behind them, before turning towards him and pushing against his chest, forcing him back. The backs of his knees hit something and he sat, landing on his couch, his eyes widening in surprise but not leaving her gaze.

'Lay down. I know that you probably won't sleep, but there's no need to spend the night alone and you can't stay in the interrogation room all night. I have paperwork to do, so long as you don't mind my shuffling; your couch can stay in here for tonight. And it was a lot of work to get that thing in here on my own, so it's staying,' she said, all business, shooting him an appraising look.

He could not express how relieved he was that she hadn't asked if he was going to be alright. She already knew.

'Thanks,' he said, the word almost lost in his voice, rough from crying.

She nodded, her eyebrows rising slightly, giving a soft, gentle, 'you're welcome, Jane,' in response.

And then she she at her desk, looking away from him and to her work; he lay down on the couch, watching her for a moment before letting his eyes drift to the ceiling.

--

He did eventually fall asleep, exhausted, though he woke up hours later to find the strangely silent office still lit. He looked to the side, expecting to find that Lisbon had stepped out to use the washroom, but found her still at her desk, sound asleep.

He sat up, almost forgetting the events of the day, a small quirk at the corner of his lips; the beginnings of a smile. She was still in her office chair but her upper half had sprawled forward, her head on her arms. The report she had been writing was trapped underneath her; her fingers were still wrapped around a pen.

He stood up, moving towards her softly, reaching out a hand to her arm and quietly calling her name. She started, a sharp little intake of air. He shushed her and she looked up at him with sleep-clouded eyes.

'C'mon over to the couch; I'm sure that this desk isn't nearly as comfortable,' she opened her mouth but he cut her off, 'The report can wait. And don't try to say that you're fine here; I can see the indentation on your face from the hard desktop.'

He tried to smile at the end of his statement but he couldn't quite manage it, not even when she raised a hand to her cheek, searching for the marks. He caught her hand midway and she looked back towards him.

'Come on,' he repeated.

He wasn't sure if it was the fact that she was still half-asleep or whether she was listening to him in a very well hidden bout of empathy, but she let him guide her, stumbling, over to the chesterfield. She sprawled onto it almost bonelessly when she reached it, taking up most of the space and mumbling something unintelligible when he spread his jacket over her, her eyes already shut. He waited a moment, enjoying the way her hair fell across her face; the gentle rise and fall of his jacket as she sighed in her sleep; before joining her on the couch.

He curled tightly on his side in the remaining space, head on the armrest and his feet intertwined with hers, closing his eyes and hoping to fall into sleep quickly.

After all, they would have to get up fairly early to move the couch back into place and look presentable when the team showed up for work in the morning.

Fin.

_Well, not totally sure that I'm happy with that last line, but I love the rest of the piece. Hope that you did too! Looking forward to any reviews that you'd like to write; they really brighten my day!_

_Ciao ciao, Moksgmol_


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